– Human
by Solita
Summary: Come squeeze the world and drip it down my throat again, down my throat again... You gotta breathe, man, breathe...! (first Trigun story; one - shot)


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
He was floating. Blue, lingering ribbons danced through his fingers, arms, and legs, encasing him all around. A smile graced his soft features, with a vibrant twinkle in his aquamarine eyes. The wind -- or water? -- swayed his locks of blonde hair, streaked with black. He understood full well his time on this world was drawing to a close, but he still lived on. He still had his health.  
  
The ribbons soaked and clinged to his figure, never letting go. He touched a ribbon and squeezed it gently. Slowly oozing its way from the fabric was the damp coldness of water. Confusion drenched his face, eyes beginning to lose the touch of happiness and becoming frantic. He tried to move, but the ribbons never ceased grasping him.  
  
They latched onto his arms and legs, forcing him to stay where he was. The liquid from the ribbons crept onto his body like spiders inching towards its prey caught in its silky, welcoming web. The pincers crawled up his skin, heading toward his mouth, nose, and eyes. His eyes moved all around, searching for some sign of help.  
  
No one was around. He noticed that he was all alone, with these droplets of water creeping towards him and his death. He took in a breath, and closed his eyes. However, as the water entered his nose, he nearly choked. The water took advantage, entering his mouth and blinding his eyes. The man wearing the red trench coat couldn't scream, the water blocking his vocal chords.  
  
Abruptly, the young man began falling, gravity beginning to take over the blissful weightlessness he felt beforehand. He couldn't stop himself and take the ribbons off of him. He was trapped in a tight corner and couldn't get himself out of this mess. He knew that he needed help, any sort of help from anyone. However, he had a feeling, a sinking feeling, that he was all alone. No one could help him.  
  
Closing his eyes in despair and utter misery, he prayed his last rites, hoping that this was some sort of nightmare and he could wake up. The ribbons clasped him tighter, making his mouth grow larger and the water entering full force. Choking and sputtering up the water, he couldn't breathe at all. Fearful and tired, he wanted this all over. He wanted this pain to end so he could be at rest.  
  
"_Move!_" someone shouted in his ear. He cringed slightly, eyes wincing, though he was unable to see.  
  
He looked around, searching for the voice. _Whose... whose there?_ he asked mentally.  
  
"Just move, lunkhead, or you'll get killed!" the voice said again. He could actually feel the ribbons been pulled and ripped from his body. This savior was actually helping him. He knew it was too late though. He knew he was going to die. It was his time, probably.  
  
_Let me... let me go_, he whispered in thought, closing his eyes and letting the water and gravity plunge him down to the darkness.  
  
"It's not **time**, dammit," the man gruffly protested, frantically tearing all the ribbons from his legs and his arms. However, they all multiplied in number and attached back to the miserable gunman quickly.   
  
_I have to go... I deserve to go_, the man in red said telepathically, the ribbons feeding on every word he thought, sucking the life out of his very soul.  
  
His so - called savior screamed valiantly into his ears a last resort or a plea of some kind. "Look, do you want to kill yourself and give up on those you protected?! Because if you do, then go ahead and do as you wish!"  
  
The savior's words triggered a gun within the man's head. He gritted his teeth and dug his nails into his gloves and hands. He wasn't going to give up. It was... wrong. It was worse than death. Death was easy, much too easy.  
  
All of a sudden, he gained a strength he thought he didn't have. He tore away all the ribbons that held him down and found the power to push himself up into the light. The water that was attached to his body like leeches sucking for delicious, life-giving blood was being thrown away into the darkness below him.  
  
He saw nothing around him. He felt the pressure of water around him, he heard the sound of his body moving through layers of oceans, and he saw the light to his salvation in front of him. He had to live. He had to breathe.  
  
_You got to breathe, man, breathe!_ the voice called out to him, cheering him on. He pictured the man smiling brightly, eyes full of happiness and hope. That man had faith that he was actually going to make it to the surface.  
  
_I'm coming up to air_, he thought. He tried to grin through the pressure, but he was concentrating on reaching the top. _I... I'm gonna live!_  
  
The surface was so close. All those ribbons that he once loved were left in the water. His lungs were about to taste heaven once again. He couldn't wait to be on land again, safe and sound on the ground. Faster he pushed through the pressure, finding it harder and harder to reach his goal.  
  
His savior still cheered him on. _Breathe, man, breathe!_ he chanted like an ancient song, urging him to live.  
  
The man was close, very close to the top. He could see the end of the light, the end of the tunnel. All of the ribbons had fallen off of him. The light of the sun broke through the water, and he lifted his body to the sky...  
  
_I'm coming up for..._  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * *   
  
  
"Is Vash going to be okay, doctor?" Meryl asked, wondering if her husband was in any serious danger or not. He had been in the hospital for weeks, and no one could find out what was wrong with him.  
  
The doctor smiled brightly, giving the troubled wife some good news. "He's going to be fine," the doctor said, his glasses shinning in the Sunday light. "It seems that all he had was fluid in his lungs, constricting his breathing."  
  
"Oh dear!" Milly shouted next to Meryl. When she had gotten the call that Vash was sick, she had come to Meryl's aid and helped her cope with the fact that Vash might die.  
  
The doctor laughed, his nearly bald head showing signs of gray hair. "Not to worry, ladies," he soothed, briefly explaining the situation. "He's going to recover and will be able to come home sooner than expected."  
  
"Wonderful!" Meryl shouted, with Milly cheering in the background. A tear reached her eye as she sighed in relief. "I'm so happy he's all right."  
  
"Can we see him?" Milly asked, hope in her eyes. It had been so long since both of them had seen the legendary gunman and former outlaw that they wished to talked with him once again.  
  
The doctor smiled brightly. "He's on the third floor, room 108."  
  
"Thanks for everything, Doctor Sanders!" Meryl thanked, following Milly to the elevator that was right down the hall in front of them. She grinned brightly, absolutely thrilled that she could see her husband again.  
  
Doctor Sanders waved back, watching the two friends board the elevator and head upstairs where the legendary gunman was sleeping. A confused look glossed over his face as he pondered a question outloud.  
  
"Though, I don't understand how he was able to come out of this one," he said, walking down the hall. "I thought for _sure_ that he was going to die..."  
  
Once the hall was clear, a figure lit a cigarette and chuckled smugly to himself. He wore a peculiar outfit for someone that was a priest, with his black hair messy and his blue eyes sharp and alluring. His hands were in the pockets of his pants, and he was leaning against the wall.  
  
No one could see him, though. Not unless he wanted them too.  
  
He smiled, and looked upwards, knowing that in a room a few floor above him, some legendary gunman named Vash the Stampede was thanking him for saving his life.  
  
Nicholas D. Wolfwood closed his eyes, and responded. "It was the least I could do... you always end up getting into trouble, you big idiot."  
  
He smiled and leaned back into the darkness of the shadows, fading away as the light from the sun began to grow through the windows. The figure was sadly gone, back to a place where his own salvation was.   
  
Wolfwood knew he would return though. He knew that even in his dreams, Vash the Stampede would always run straight first into the worst kind of trouble. And he would be the one to save him in the end.  
  
So for now, he smoked, watched, and waited. He had a feeling he wouldn't have to wait long, though.  
  
Call it... a guardian angel's intuition.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
